


Sing Along

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spark Play, music inspired overload, sing to overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beachcomber has a hypothesis and Perceptor is a most willing test subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skywinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywinder/gifts).



> This was written for Skywinder in response to a prompt for some PerceptorxBeachcomber. I've not written either of these much before so I hope they didn't come across too OOC. Enjoy!

Perceptor surfaces from recharge slowly, letting his systems gradually come online. It is a personal indulgence, one he allows himself far too rarely. Time is not something he can often spare.   
  
His external sensors are the last to boot and as his audials come online, he hears music. A familiar voice sings a foreign tune, the words and rhythm neither Cybertronian nor human.   
  
Perceptor keeps his optics offline, the better to enjoy the song. It fills him with a warmth and quiet joy.   
  
Today is to be a day of many indulgences it seems.   
  
Perceptor keeps still, giving himself to the melody. His spark whirls and hums in time with the rhythmic tune.   
  
Very nice indeed.   
  
By the final refrain, Perceptor is smiling, his frame humming as though near overload. And perhaps he is. Not the harsh and sudden snap of charge, but a slow, effusing pleasure that soaks him down to his struts.   
  
He onlines his optics as a weight gently settles over his torso.   
  
“Good morning,” Beachcomber sings.   
  
“Indeed it is.”   
  
Beachcomber grins and the song shifts chords, resonating better with Perceptor's spark. His frame shivers all over, the warmth within him turning liquid.   
  
“This is quite nice,” Perceptor says.   
  
\--You think so?-- Beachcomber switches to a private comm, the better to keep his vocalizer occupied with song, Perceptor assumes.   
  
“Very much.” Perceptor reaches out with his field, letting it stroke along Beachcomber's.   
  
Beachcomber's hands slide up his chestplate teasingly. --I've been experimenting with frequencies. Can I try something?--  
  
“Of course. What would you have me do?”   
  
\--Lie back and enjoy.--  
  
That is a task easily accomplished. “Then I put myself in your talented hands,” Perceptor says.   
  
Beachcomber's lips curve toward a smile and his song gains in volume, but slows in tempo. --Open for me?--  
  
Perceptor obliges in an instant, his interface panels popping open and his connectors warm with the ache of anticipation.   
  
But Beachcomber's visor only sparkle brighter at him. His song rises and falls, a slow croon, and Perceptor's spark shivers with delight. Small and nimble fingers dance down, playing with the sparking ports at either side of Perceptor's pelvic span.   
  
\--As lovely as these are, they are not quite what I meant,-- Beachcomber says, winking half his visor.   
  
One hand presses to Perceptor's chest, toying with the plate and slipping the edge of a finger into the seam.   
  
Ah. A bit sheepish, Perceptor gives Beachcomber's lovely thighs a stroke of his palms and then sends the command to unlock his chestplate. The top pops up, allowing Beachcomber to remove it and set it aside. Perceptor's secondary armor paneling cycles away, leaving his pale spark bare to whatever delightful plan Beachcomber has concocted.   
  
\--Lovely,-- Beachcomber says as he frames the corona of Perceptor's spark with his fingers.   
  
Perceptor smiles. “Thank you. It is yours to tease.”   
  
Beachcombers laugh comes across their communication. --I promise not to keep you on the edge for too long,-- he says and then he tilts forward, looking into the core of Perceptor's spark.   
  
He continues to sing, Perceptor notices, and now the song has shifted octaves yet again, so a lower tenor. The soft vibrations in Perceptor's frame strengthens, until his sensory net twitches in confusion. Is this pleasure? Is this sensation? His frame does not understand.   
  
His spark, however. Oh, his spark understands. His spark brightens and Perceptor feels a shift in the usual pulse of his spark. It counter-rhythms Beachcomber's song, as though providing an accompaniment or harmony.   
  
Perceptor shivers and his hands slide down Beachcomber's thighs, resting on the geologist's knees. His thumb sweep underneath them, teasing the delicate components in the joint underside. Beachcomber purrs at him, field alight with pleasure, but he never loses place in his song.   
  
It builds in on itself, not quite approaching a crescendo, but heading toward one at some point. Beachcomber leans closer, the light behind his visor shifting to Perceptor's face briefly before he stares into the depths of Perceptor's spark. There's something in his faceplate that suggests concentration before the music changes pitch.   
  
And Perceptor shivers from helm to pede as pleasure radiates through him, spark swelling outward as though to capture some tangible source. His spark sings with the music, vibrating to the rhythm of Beachcomber's song.   
  
This is unlike anything Perceptor has experienced before. And he understands at once Beachcomber's recent fascination with spark frequencies and incompatibilities.   
  
He sucks in a sharp ventilation, grip tightening on Beachcomber's knees, the pleasure pulsing within him to the same lovely melody as Beachcomber's song.   
  
Perceptor offlines his optics, devoting more of his senses to the music, the rise and fall of volume and chords and harmonies. His spark flickers and pulses and spins and dances, sending waves of energy through his frame that ebb and flow. Perceptor's ventilations match the pulse-rates and his sensory net hums with warmth.   
  
Beachcomber's hands pluck pleasure into the seams of his frame as the echoes of his song vibrate straight to Perceptor's core.  
  
Perceptor hums with delight and pleasure, his frame buzzing as though he's consumed copious amounts of high grade, leaving him feeling as though he were floating.   
  
And then Beachcomber's song swells, building to that crescendo, and Perceptor feels as though his own frame is rising with it. His spark brightens, filling all the cracks in his self, and Perceptor trembles.   
  
The music peaks and with it, Perceptor's spark. It crests like a wave upon the shore and then blossoms into an explosion of color and sound.   
  
It is not an overload by definition of the term. But the languid spill of warmth over his frame, one that suffuses every inch of him until even his core is sated, cannot be denied. He feels at peace and full of bliss and all he wants to do is snuggle Beachcomber against him and slip into recharge.   
  
His processor calms, his thoughts ease, and a world of possibilities blossom on a subconscious level. Yet, there is no need to act upon any of them.   
  
The trailing notes of Beachcomber's song soften and then drift away, leaving the silence of the berth room behind.   
  
Perceptor onlines his optics and looks into Beachcomber's expression, one full of satisfaction. His spark reflects on Beachcomber's visor, happily spinning in place. And as much as Perceptor searches for intelligent words, all he can manage is a glyphless hum of pleasure.   
  
Beachcomber's field caresses his. “I'd consider that an achievement,” he says and then ever so gently nudges Perceptor's chestplate closed, clicking the docking panel back into place with a lingering stroke of the hinges.   
  
“Early feedback would seem to indicate a positive result,” Perceptor replies, his receptors still tingling with aftershocks.   
  
Beachcomber grins and pulls Perceptor's hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each one in turn. “Then I did good?”   
  
“In my humble opinion, yes,” Perceptor murmurs and he gives Beachcomber's hands a small tug. “That was very enjoyable.”   
  
“I thought you'd appreciate it.” Beachcomber allows himself to be pulled into laying across Perceptor's front, his helm nestled against Perceptor's now shielded spark. “I'm thinking about composing a few other songs. For posterity's sake.”   
  
Perceptor smiles and strokes a hand down Beachcomber's back, teasing the smaller tires that are part of his altmode. “Might I volunteer to be a test subject?”   
  
“Percy, you know you're my first choice.”   
  
“And I am honored to have that distinction.” Perceptor allows his optics to drift offline again.   
  
Today is a day for indulgence, after all, and if he wishes to doze with Beachcomber a nice blanket atop him, Perceptor will do so.   
  
Beachcomber doesn't seem to mind.   
  


****


End file.
